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The check that Costas gave me for the cash I lent him did bounce, as I expected. What can you expect from a cocaine addict? Ronna told me she’d seen Costas a couple of days before I did, on line at a Banana Republic cash register where Costas’s credit card turned out to be invalid. People are sometimes sadly predictable.

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Yesterday, when I went to fill out the car insurance forms, the woman at the office asked my occupation. I gave it as “writer,” but she misinterpreted my New York accent and wrote down “rider.” I guess maybe because this is Davie, she thought I was with the rodeo. Do I actually look like a cowboy?

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I was finally falling asleep around 1 AM when the phone rang. “Hello?” I said, trying not to sound incoherent. A raspy whisper: “I…want…to blow…you…” Deciding this was no one of my acquaintance, I said, “Yeah, well, we all want something,” hung up, and pulled the plug out.

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My journal is the context for my dreams. It’s my favorite place to be.

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You’ve been telling yourself for a long time “Today is the day!” only to fall into old ways before the day, or if you’re lucky, the week, is spent.

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Your notebook is not only the place to keep your ideas and fleeting thoughts at. It is also a canvas of your everyday life.

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Writing in a journal regularly can help improve your mood, stress levels, and depression symptoms.

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I’m beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t finally try a homosexual experience just to test things out. Maybe it would be more satisfying than being with a woman.